John's Raven
by Ar3emis
Summary: The saying "The past stays in the past" is a big lie, the truth always get unraveled, even if it takes time (to Sherlock's frustration). You don't have a say in it and a certain Raven Wilson (Jennifer Wilson's adopted daughter) is about to experience this, unwillingly of course. Disclaimer: Me? Ha ha, funny. I don't own a thing. JohnxOC, MAYBE a little Sherlolly, PROBABLY Mystrade
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **The pink lady**

"You're a doctor. An army doctor."

John watched the tall man, his flatmate, standing in the door opening, waiting for a reply. John grunted silently when rising up from his comfy chair, standing up as straight as he could. "Yes," he answered. Not really sure why he was asked these things, as his flatmate already knew this.

"Any good?" The man, Sherlock, closed up the distance between them.

"Very good." John's answer was firm, daring even. The man called Sherlock Holmes got  
closer, now there were only a few feet between the two men.

"You must have seen a lot of violence then, dreadful deaths..." Sherlock continued.

"Enough for a life time." The space between John and Sherlock lessened even more.  
Sherlock's face was almost touching John's.

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock smirked, he knew he had him. His conclusion was  
confirmed as the other man answered: "Oh god, yes". They hurried out of their shared  
apartment in Baker Street and called for a taxi. John barely remembered to tell their  
landlady, Mrs Hudson, that he would skip tea as he now had something else to do.  
Something way more fun.

oOoOoOo

John stood in a white room with wooden floor. The painting was peeling of, and the floor  
looked too old to be safe to walk on. The air was filled with dust, making it hard to breathe normally. Beside him was Detective Inspector Lestrade. He was the one working on this case,  
and he was also the one who needed help from the consulting detective; Sherlock Holmes,  
John's flatmate. On the floor was a dead woman, dressed in a bright shade of pink. Sherlock was deducing and observing, collecting clues. He seemed to think that this was a  
serial killer's work, a serial killer whom persuaded people to take suicide. The woman on the floor was the fourth victim, and hopefully the last. The murdered woman on the floor had done something the others hadn't. She had left a note. In her last seconds alive she scratched 'Rache' in the floor with her nails. This was a very exciting twist in Sherlock's opinion; first a serial killer whom made people kill themselves, then one of them left a note.

DI Lestrade interrupted the silence that had once filled the room. "Show me what you've  
got, Sherlock."

Sherlock slowly stood up. He turned towards John, totally ignoring the other man's request. "Your turn, John." He said.

"Um...what?"John's voice was slightly unsure. When he thought about it, he didn't really  
know why he was there.

"Sherlock, I can't allow that. It is enough trouble to go through getting you on the crime  
scene." Lestrade said, trying to reason with the man, but Sherlock would have none of it. A  
cold stare from him was enough to persuade the DI otherwise.

"John." The tall man's voice was insisting.

The doctor puffed slightly before doing as he was told earlier. John slowly crouched down,  
struggling a bit with his bad leg. His brain worked a little slower than normal. He was still  
confused with the man he had just met, whose name was Sherlock Holmes. He met him  
 **yesterday** for God's sake and now he was solving crimes with him. This all seemed a little  
too crazy for him. Just a day ago he had said to his therapist that **nothing ever** happened to  
him. The world was a bit too ironic to Watson's taste.

John shook his head and started observing. It was a female, mid forties? She wore a neon  
pink coat with matching heels and an absurd quantity of jewellery and rings and all except her wedding ring were clean. Her coat was wet, been out in the rain lately. But it hadn't rained  
in London for quite some time... This brought a confused look on his face. He kneeled closer, smelling for alcohol. There was none, though there was a sour smell from what probably was vomit. Drugs then, she choked on  
her own vomit.

"What have you deduced so far?" It was Sherlock's voice, he sounded a bit curious.

"Married woman in her mid forties..." "No alcohol smell, probably taken drugs, then choked on her vomit." He made a brief pause. "Her coat is wet... but there hasn't been any rain in  
London the past days..." DI Lestrade stood in the background, a bit surprised. The army  
doctor had only used a minute and had gotten more information than what his own men  
had in ten.

Dr. Watson turned towards his flatmate. "How did I do?"

"Not bad, though you did miss almost everything of importance." Sherlock's cocky answer  
was not unexpected, even though John Watson had only known him for a day and a half he  
was already used to his flatmate's cockiness. Only a sigh from the doctor was heard before  
Sherlock (or the Freak, as some of the police officers called him) began to ramble through  
everything Watson had missed (which was quite a lot, though he had been onto something).

oOoOoOo

"PINK!" Sherlock almost tripped down the stairs as he called it out over and over again. John looked after him, a confused frown on his face. He soon got himself rid of it as he figured  
out that he would get an explanation later. At least he hoped so.

Before Sherlock Holmes had fled the crime scene, he had been ordered to go with Lestrade  
to get some more information. Jennifer, the pink lady, had written a message in the floor;  
Rachel. Which was weird, Rachel was the name of her stillborn daughter. Why would  
she in her single moment before death write the name of her long dead daughter? It was  
 **long** ago, she should be over it by now. It made no sense. Therefore had Sherlock insisted  
that John had to go with Lestrade to interview Jennifer's adopted daughter; Raven. She lived a couple of blocks from here. She was 23 years old and an artist. That was all John Watson  
knew about her.

Watson grunted softly as he climbed into the cab with the Detective Inspector at the other  
side, giving the address to the cabbie. The trip to 23 year old artist's apartment was short,  
though John Watson's journey had only just begun.

 **Author's note: I would be forever grateful if some of you readers could be so kind to  
review my story. I'd really appreciate it. And before I forget it, I have to thank my beta,  
Potterhorse-Spirit, and I will also recommend her story to you; Fight For What You Stand  
For. It is extraordinary, so if you won't review my story, please at least review PHS's .**

 **Sincerely Ar3emis**

 **(Beta note: You really should review this, though. My friend is awesome and I think this  
story could turn out really great! **

**Love, hugs and kisses to all,**

 **PHS Xx)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A sound erupted throughout her apartment. It came from the door; someone was knocking on it. She ignored it. _"Too busy"_ , the woman concluded. Her attention shifted towards her half-finished drawing and she picked up the charcoal-stick once again, but before she had time to carry on the insisting knocking started again, but it was someone else knocking now. _"Why couldn't they just leave? I'm busy"_. This time she didn't even acquire enough time to lift the pencil up before getting interrupted once again. "Police, open the door!" The voice was just loud enough for her to hear, but that didn't make it any less irritating.

She groaned heavily and ungracefully rose from her position on the coach. She stumbled a bit from dizziness when she got on her feet too quickly and massaged her stiff neck and shoulders. If it hadn't been for a certain black and white English Shepherd that had been occupying the rest of the sofa, unwillingly to move an inch, she wouldn't have had to deal with sore body parts. As on cue her dog, Gray, opened an eye and looked at her grumpily. He had been asleep and she woke him; not appreciated. She shoved his head light-heartedly as she walked past and muttered under her breath, "You have no idea how well off you are..." She shook her head ever so slightly.

Her apartment wasn't the best nor the biggest, but it would suffice for the time being. The walls had been yellow when she first had moved in and it had taken exactly five seconds for her to decide to paint the walls white. The yellow paint was just so bloody awful that she couldn't bear to look at it a second more than necessary. All her rooms except the bedroom were somewhat organised; they all had one or two things misplaced, but nothing even close to her bedroom. The bedroom was in fact rather chaotic; all her drawings were hung up on one of the walls, some of them covering others. She also had a desk and two chairs in one corner. One of them had a big bag of spray-paint boxes and her desk was filled with bunches of documents which were mostly about psychology. Her laptop lay on top of that again. Above the desk she had hung up her graduation-proof as well, the last thing remaining now was a real job and she could call herself a psychologist. In another corner were all of the other things she used to draw or paint with or on, stuffed in a white dresser just beside her closet. Since she hadn't gotten the last of the bookshelves up, books were covering a good part of the floor too.

She crossed the living room and entered the short hallway. There were three doors there besides the exit; the kitchen, the living room and the bathroom. Besides this there was a small room at the end, containing another closet, a couple of shoes and a mirror. Raven walked towards the door and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging in the entrance; her black hair was tied in a high pony tail and she had black smudges on her skin from the coal sticks she had used to draw with just a moment ago in her face, on her to big t-shirt and both hands. She looked awful. She could just hope she wouldn't be arrested, because there was no way she was going to the station like this. But it could've been worse. She could've been painting instead of drawing; she would have looked like a bloody clown, literally, if she had used red paint. She had never really been any good at keeping it on the sheets and the canvas. Somehow it always found a way onto her and her clothes, sometimes even the furniture around her, and she had no idea why or how that happened.

The red door, which she hated but hadn't gotten time to swap with a nicer one, had a peek hole, which she never used. Her hand found its way to the lock instead and opened the door right away with a 'swish' and startled both men outside. The one to the left with the grey hair almost jumped into the other shorter man with sand-blond hair and a cane in his right hand. _"The one to the left is the policeman; badge in left back-pocket. The policeman is married-ring on finger, most likely suspecting that his wife is cheating on him; unconsciously touches the ring, but keeps it on. Still loves her then. Bags under his eyes, he is a workaholic - starts early goes home late and his clothes is a bit of a give-away as well. Right handed...Hidden gun, under the jacket. Doesn't smoke, but why does he have nicotine patches in his pocket? Looks nervous- no, uncomfortable...why? The other man...he doesn't usually work with the blond man, a civilian maybe, but why bring a civilian?"_

She turned towards the other man, the one with the cane and asked "What?" _"Right handed. The cane is worn on the bottom, but it is pretty new...a very bad limp in his right leg, then, but he stands like it doesn't exist...Psychosomatic limp, they're often caused by severe trauma... Very short cut hair, dry skin, well tanned and his posture; military background, approximately 3 years in... Afghanistan or Iraq, ex-military; hurt in combat and sent home not very long ago judging by the cane. He was shot, but not in the leg...somewhere else, most likely on the left side on the torso (Shoulder?). His left hand is shaking a bit; PTSD? He has bags under his eyes as well and he looks tired; can't sleep – nightmares (?)"_

"I am Detective Inspector Lestrade, and... um, this here is Dr. John Watson." He said taking his badge and showing it to her. _"Ah...He's a doctor, a surgeon, explains a bit."_ "Nice to meet you, I'm Raven. What is it that you want?" she said trying to sound curious. "We're here to ask you a couple of questions regarding your mother, Jennifer Wilson. May we come inside?" He put the badge in his left back pocket and looked at her. She cocked her head to the side as though she had no idea of why they were there, before moving away from the door and further inside her humble home.

"Take off your shoes. I really do hate washing the floor more than necessary. I'll be there in a second." Raven walked back the way she came from and entered her bedroom. There she found a clean sweater after making an effort to clean her face and hands in the bathroom connected to her sleeping chamber. Quickly she found her way back to the DI and the doctor. They were standing face to face talking with hushed voices. The doctor seemed slightly upset and maybe a bit lost while the DI looked somewhat amused and shrugged before turning his attention to her.

Raven smiled slightly and gestured towards the couch, but then remembered that her greedy dog was stretched out on it like he was trying to cover the whole thing! "Gray, get down. We have guests." Raven said warningly, looking the lazy dog right in the eye... and was ignored. "Graham! Get. Down. Now" This time Raven used her dangerously-calm voice while staring at him with all the intensity she could muster. Finally the dog listened to her and slowly he stood up and moved to the other side of the sofa, just making enough space for the two other men, then slumped down and returned to his beloved sleep. "You're impossible!" The frustration must've been very clear and very amusing as the two men smiled at the display. She sighed and was tempted to find a wall to hit her head on repeatedly.

"Really, it's fine," The doctor said, a tiny smile playing on his lips. She found herself a chair opposite of the sofa and her annoying, lazy, too-smart-for-its-own-good, big and greedy dog and sat down, legs crossed in a manner not unlike the meditating Buddhists you saw on telly, with her head resting on her right hand. She sat perfectly still as they made their way to the sofa.

Her patience ran out, "Why is he here? He's not from the police." Raven nodded her head in the direction of the man with the cane, Doctor John Watson. "Well, he is help-" John interrupted the DI. "I'm taking notes for Sherlock Holmes who is helping with the investigation, he couldn't make it here." He spoke as if he was a bit out of his comfort zone and it was understandable as he was a surgeon, not an interrogator. She looked over at the DI, raising an eyebrow at him. The detective inspector nodded reluctantly.

Sherlock Holmes; he has a blog, the Science of Deduction. He is the only Consulting Detective in the world. He solves murders for the police and others can come to him with their own problems as long as they're not too boring... He has a bigger brother; Mycroft Holmes, which holds a 'minor' position in the government. It took more time than I thought it would for Sherlock to take the case. Well, well better late than never.

"Sherlock Holmes? He solves murders for the police, doesn't he? Is it the suicides, the ones in the paper? You mentioned my mom at the door; she's been murdered hasn't she?" Raven quickly asked, but suddenly realised her mistake. _"Why did I say that? Am I really too stupid to play stupid? Oh the irony"_ Raven watched the two men, hoping it went unnoticed... and it did. _"They must've spent too much time with Sherlock, lucky me_ ". They looked at her a bit differently; their eyes filled with a bit more pity. She didn't like it, not at all. Still she didn't say anything. Instead she slumped with her shoulders and made the light in her eyes dim a bit. It worked very well; in their eyes she was a woman grieving for her dead mother.

"Yes, you're right. We're sorry for your loss." The DI said, actually meaning it. Before he could continue Doctor Watson asked a bit surprised, suddenly holding a leather notebook in his hand, "Sorry for asking, but how did you know who Sherlock Holmes is?" She answered immediately, but was careful to not reply too fast. "His blog; The Science of Deduction, I read it every now and then. I'm sure he'll find the murderer." Raven turned her head to look out the window for a second to gather her thoughts and waited for the DI to start questioning her.

"Do you know why she came to London?" Detective Inspector Lestrade finally asked. Raven turned her head back towards them and replied, "Some business and she was supposed to come over for a bit, to celebrate my birthday..." Raven put on a considerate face and placed her hands in her lap. She could hear John idly writing down every word that was said in his small book. It took some time before the next question came. "Do you know what she used to do with her spare time?" the detective inspector continued. "No. Not really. She did have lovers, though..." Her eyes closed while her fingers ran along the bottom of her sweater feeling the material of it. "Do you know any of their names, addresses or anything the like? And how did you discover that she was cheating?" The DI pressed on.

Raven was just about to answer when a buzzing sound came from the doctor, he quietly muttered a 'sorry', took out his phone and read the text. Watson rolled his eyes at it before quickly typing in an answer. "No. Once she left her phone in the living room and she got a text on it. I read it before I could find mom and give it to her and - well it wasn't something a 11 year old should read...After that I noticed her too many 'business trips' and 'late hours'..."

Raven leant towards the table and picked up her sketch book and a pencil, she found a new page and felt a sudden desire to cover it in black and grey as she sometimes felt. Slowly she started to move the pencil over the page, making dark-grey lines that would eventually turn into something anyone could recognise as a raven in flight. It took a moment before the DI continued, "Do you know of someone who would want to harm her?" Raven met Lestrade's eyes, "No."

"On the crime scene beside her body she had herself carved something in the floor boards with her finger nails: 'Rache'. Sherlock is certain that it is supposed to be 'Rachel', do you know why she would have written that?" John asked, finally taking initiative in the interrogation. Raven raised her left eyebrow at that, "No, no idea. It's the name of her stillborn daughter, my dead sister..." She ended, frowning. Her pencil stopped for a second before continuing its movements along the sheet. Before any of the two men could ask her another question she continued, "You know that was the reason she adopted me, she wanted a kid but after Rachel she... She decided to adopt instead; I was eight..."John's phone chimed and his cheek went ever so slightly pink as the DI gave him a look, but he ignored the text this time.

o0o0o0o - 10 minutes later

"Well, I think that's it. If you come up with something else call the number, okay?" He reached out his hand holding a card with a phone number on it. Raven took it and mumbled something that sounded like a thanks. Her phone found its way to her hand and she saved the number under 'DI Lestrade' and carelessly threw both the phone and card on the small table in front of her; both luckily landing a top of a smaller sketch book of hers. She really had a lot of those. The three of them got up. "Do you think I could meet him? Sherlock Holmes, I mean. I'd like to see the man who is solving the murder of my mother." She bit her bottom lip, hoping for a positive answer. The two men looked a bit startled at her request and it took some time for one of them to form an answer. "I'm about to go meet with him now, if you want you can tag along, but I can't promise anything, he's a bit..." John struggled to find a word to describe him, luckily Lestrade had a mental list for such an occasion; "Arrogant, Brilliant, Childish, Detached, Erratic behaviour, F-" "I think she got it, Lestrade" John stated in a low voice, stopping Lestrade from continuing. "I don't care about how he is. I just want to see him, that's it."Raven smiled. Lestrade looked at her with an unreadable expression and walked out the way they came in with John and her not so far behind.

A/N: Let me explain; during the deductions Raven made she saw that both had bags under their eyes, but she drew different conclusions from them because were Lestrade looked rather healthy John looked a bit tired and beaten, so that made her think that Lestrade chooses to get up early and get home late while John can't sleep because of his nightmares. I hope you think that that is explanation enough. And that deduction with the cane, that was me. I'm pretty proud of that one. Also the dog's name is Graham, though Raven has shortened it down to Gray.

Anyway hope you liked it and I am SO sorry for the late update and reviews are welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: You may or may not have noticed that this chapter has a name, unlike the others, and I will continue with naming them. Another thing is that chapter three (the one you're about to read, if you haven't already deduced it) is parted in two (it might turn into thre, just so you know), and since they're the same chapter they will have the same name. The second part is almost finished as well, so the next update won't take too long, I hope. Please review.

Thanks to my awesome beta (Potterhorse-Spirit) who has helped a lot with the story line and my awful grammar.

Chapter 3: The well-dressed drama queen

The cold London air hit him the moment he stepped outside and it felt like jumping into a pool of snow and ice. The universe had definitively woken up on the wrong side of bed without anything else than John to keep itself occupied. Why would all of this happen to him if not to humour the rest of the world? As long as he got a break now and then he would be ready for anything the universe could decide to throw at him. John crossed his arms in front of him, desperately trying to not freeze to death before he got the chance to hail a cab for the two of them. He really should have chosen one of his warmer coats.

Raven Wilson, the daughter of Jennifer Wilson was standing at his left side with a grey woollen coat wrapped around her which went all the way down to her knees. Her face was slightly flushed from the cold as she reached out to the back of her head to untie her ponytail and walked towards the street. She made a face as she carefully tugged at the hair tie beside him. Raven's jaw clenched tight and he could see tears forming in the crooks of her eyes from the pain, though no sound escaped her tightly sealed lips. They stopped at the side of the road and Raven had finally succeeded at removing the hair tie. She put it in her coat-pocket and rubbed away the tears before they had time to crawl down her cheeks, then flattened her hair so it wouldn't look like a complete mess when they arrived at Baker St.

Finally a cab slowed down and rescued both of them from the freezing cold. "221B Baker Street," John said while frantically trying to warm up his hands with his breath. The cab wasn't as warm as he had hoped it would be, but it was definitively better than standing on the pavement when it was far, far below zero. The inside of the car was much cleaner than the other cabs he had taken before. It was spot-free and it didn't smell awful either, actually it was rather close to pleasant. _"Strange..."_

The cabbie looked back at them through the mirror and silently nodded in acknowledgement. It was a man in his early thirties with red hair and freckles, and if the driver-license had gotten it right, his name was Adam Scott.

The car started to move along with the rest of London's traffic after they got the seat buckles fastened with their shaking hands. For a while John just sat there, looking out the window. Watching people run up and down the streets with their dull coloured clothes that matched their boring lives. Not so long ago he was one of them, scattering around without meaning or goal, but not anymore, he hoped.

The silence was thick and uncomfortable, he felt like he should say something, but what? He dared stealing a glimpse in her direction. It lasted longer than he had planned, but Raven didn't seem to notice. She was sitting with her knees beneath her chin and her arms holding the long legs in place. _"Why had she wanted to see Sherlock so much?"_ He had seen it in her eyes, she had really, really wanted to meet him. She had been a little _too_ eager, but why?

A weak smile occupied her face for a brief second before disappearing. John followed Raven's gaze, wondering why she smiled; it was directed ahead of her, but not at something. Whatever she was watching, it transpired in her head. John yawned silently and felt incredibly tired all of a sudden, but he forced himself not to close his eyes. He wondered again if he should say something. It might help him stay up, but he was pretty sure he would fall asleep before he thought of something to say, so why fight the inevitable?

He had a bad feeling that told him that this day was nowhere near an end, and that feeling had proved to be right countless of times before. It had been an instinct that had served him well in Afghanistan. It was similar to his doctor intuition which helped him make decisions quickly when a dying soldier was placed in front of him. Though this feeling was a bit different, it prepared him, warned him of things that would come.

John closed his eyes, the weariness dragging him towards sleep. He sensed his consciousness retreating to the back of his head as his body relaxed. The warm cosy blanket called slumber enfolded around him and he was tempted to smile at the sensation. How long had it been since he had gotten a good nap? Way too long.

Then a voice abruptly yanked the blanket away from him and he was _very_ close to growling. "-own each other?" It was Raven. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked confused, pushing the desire to ignore her and go back to sleep away. "I asked; how long have you and Mr. Holmes known each other?" She repeated, glancing over at him before she resumed watching the people milling down the streets.

He looked at his clock, did the math and answered her, "Almost 30 hours." He smiled lightly at her. He didn't bother to think about how not-normal it was; his thoughts had wandered down that path so many times now that it was more of a well-worn road than a narrow path. After the conversation with Lestrade he hadn't used every other minute to think 'What am I doing here?' or 'Maybe I should get an appointment with my therapist. Who runs around solving crimes with a man you've just met and moves in with him?' Lestrade had done well in calming him down and he was grateful for that.

"And you're already flatmates and partners in crime solving; that is quite impressive." Raven faced him and smiled softly. He met her eyes and then he decided he liked seeing her smile, when she smiled it was like she became a little brighter, and he liked the brighter version of Raven.

"It's crazy, I know. I guess I could've said it was 'friends at first sight', but I'm not sure if 'friends' is the right term, I only just met him." Raven nodded and gave a small smile in his direction, but stayed quiet. He didn't want the conversation to die out. It was nice to talk to someone normal. It wasn't that long ago since he had a conversation with a somewhat ordinary person. In fact all people he had talked to for his whole life had been more or less normal, but he had a feeling that he should savour the moments he had with normal people from now on. After all, he was going to move in with Sherlock (yes he had decided on that), and John already had a feeling that he would need all the normality he could find to make up for Sherlock and his not so ordinary behaviour.

John said the first thing that popped up in his mind to keep the conversation going. "So... you're an artist, right?" And he couldn't have asked it more awkwardly than that, even if he tried. As a consequence of his embarrassment he looked out the window before he could finish the sentence. "..." John turned his head when he didn't get an answer and saw Raven's eyes on him. He could see flickers of emotions, but none of them was he able to decipher.

She opened her mouth with what he thought was a thoughtful look. "Well, yes, I'm an artist, but I am looking for another job. Artists never really earn much money before they die." "...I suppose that's right. But what kind of job are you looking for?" He continued before her thoughts could linger too long on the subject death. "Psychologist." He shifted in his seat and placed a hand on his right knee. Raven noticed it. "What? You don't like us?" She asked innocently with matching eyes and false hurt evident in her voice. "I don't like _my_ therapist," he corrected seriously and tried to ease his body. "Oh? Why?" Raven questioned with genuine interest. "It doesn't feel like the treatment is working, sometimes I feel better after a session, but it's always preliminary, it never lasts." John shrugged like he didn't really care at the end, but he knew it wasn't very convincing. _"Why am I telling her this? I met her less than half an hour ago. Oh I forgot, I really like treating strangers as friends"_

Raven's feet slid off the seat and cocked her head ever so little. "Not that it is any of my business," she looked out the window at her side and continued with a calm voice. "...but, why-" She stopped mid-sentence and he could see her body stiffening. "John." Her voice had changed from friendly to wary in a matter of seconds.

The car slowed down.

" _Wait, what? We can't be at Baker Street yet, we've only been driving for twenty minutes max."_ John could feel his heart beat harder and harder, soon threatening to hop out of the ribcage. Adrenaline rushed through his veins; a tingling sensation that started in his abdomen and spread out to fingers and toes making his whole body twitch in anticipation. He smiled on the inside. Every instinct was screaming at him that something was very wrong and he was delighted. How could he be? It was absurd, but he didn't have the time to ponder.

The cab was still moving, but it had driven off the street and was closing up on a grey warehouse. This wasn't Baker Street, the place had been trapped in his memory since the first time he set his foot there this morning and this was definitively not Baker Street.

(Beta Note: if you want to yell at someone because this is late, yell at me. Oops. Sorry! Please review, it isn't her fault)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey guys! I promise this chapter was finished a couple of days ago, but I did not have any internet access, so I couldn't post it before now. Not my fault if you were thinking that I use too much time on the chapters.

Also I've gotten my first review! Thank you and feel free to repeat the action. And to you others; it takes less than five minutes to do it, please, you can spare me that much... If you review you seriously make me want to write more and my day gets ten times the better. Review and it'll be your good deed for the day. Please I'd really appreciate it...

One last thing, I've updated the cover photo. I drew it myself :)

Ar3emis

Meeting the drama queen…

The cab parked inside the warehouse. "John Hamish Watson and Raven Wilson step out of the car and don't do anything stupid," a female voice from outside of the car spoke to them in a bored but commanding tone. He was the first to oblige, then, as the last one left in the backseat, Raven clumsily stumbled out of the car after him. She closed the door and walked over to him with a look of uncertainty on her face.

The woman outside held a Blackberry with both her hands, texting furiously with her thumbs, not even sparing them a glance. The woman had brown hair and was wearing a black, tight dress that revealed a bit more skin than most people thought decent and high heeled shoes matching her dress. The brunette had a jacket on, but it was too thin to give her any actual protection from the biting cold. She wasn't even shivering, though! She must be some kind of robot or superhuman to be able to walk around in so little clothes in this weather. He almost began shuddering just by looking at her.

"Over there," she ordered and nodded towards the centre of the warehouse. The room was square and quite big. The concrete floor had wet spots here and there among the small cracks that covered the ground. Metal pipes in various sizes and colours snaked up and down the walls, some going through walls or the roof. He could feel the moisture in the air as he breathed in. Yellow stripes of light illuminated a path that led towards the middle of the room. John's eyes finally stopped sweeping over the rest of the room and settled ahead of him. In the centre stood a man in a dark-grey three-piece suit, supporting his weight on the black umbrella in his right hand. Why he was carrying an umbrella John couldn't figure out, it hadn't rained since last week and it wasn't supposed to rain today either...

The sound of a motor coming back to life behind him seized his attention and redirected it towards the cab. Andrew Scott- that probably wasn't his real name, which meant the driver's licence also had gotten it wrong, had started the car and the woman with the blackberry sat in the back seat, still texting. Raven and he stood still, watching. John's gaze returned to the man after the car drove away and both he and Raven started walking towards the mysterious man. He had brown, thinning hair and dark eyes colder and muddier than the Thames. The man was taller than him (not that it was very rare) and he had long thin limbs, though his stomach had a slight bulge. The man with the umbrella didn't look very frightening, but there was something about him. The way he stood, the way his face gave away nothing, probably less than nothing. He had this air around him; like no one could touch him, and to be frank, it was creepy.

Raven opened her mouth, addressing the man. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself? Even kidnappers can afford manners." Raven's voice was firm and not the slightest disturbed by what was going on. She nearly sounded...offended? Somehow even in a situation like this she managed to sound like she had some authority over the other man. The man's gaze snapped to Raven and he cocked his head in surprised mock-amusement, like he was pleasantly surprised that she could talk and walk at the same time.

"Drama queens don't introduce themselves on request, Raven. It's not dramatic enough," John said in a low voice, too quiet for the man to hear, but he still received a 'look' from said drama queen as if he had guessed what came out from his mouth. The corner of Raven's mouth quirked upwards and her eyes lit up; the darkness surrounding her retreating for a moment. A warm feeling settled in his chest as he returned the gesture; how easy it was to make someone shine a little brighter in a world made of shadows - consuming everyone and everything, with a couple of shared words.

He turned his head a little, subtly avoiding the man's gaze. Raven was walking at the same pace as him to his right, their shoulders brushing together, uncertainty uniting them as one force instead of splitting them up as the two strangers they were. The muscles in her shoulders had tensed up, and her gait was a little stiffer than earlier. Unlike him her hands were swinging with her stride, not rigid like sticks.

They had almost reached the man when Raven put her hands in her coat-pockets and shivered from the cold.

John met the drama queen's gaze head on as if challenging him and continued to limp closer with grim determination. If they were entering a battle, he would not go down without a fight; Afghanistan knew that and this man would, very soon. Really, who was this man? He had the nerve to practically kidnap two civilians in daylight right off the street without even caring to hide his appearance from them. He wasn't even afraid of being recognised later, as though it wouldn't matter. What did he want from them? The woman knew their names, so this man obviously picked them out; they were not some random people from the street. The kidnapping was planned, but the drama queen could not know that Raven would come as well, could he? He did know her name after all… Could it be the murders that made him kidnap the two of them? But they did not know very much about the case, if it was about that he would have kidnapped Sherlock or maybe that DI - what was his name again… Lestrade? No, it couldn't be about the case, somehow it was connected with Sherlock Holmes, it had to be. This man didn't seem to have sincere intentions either and if the "good guy" could be bloody brilliant then the criminal mastermind probably was as well, right?

He had had a very long and confusing day. Weariness had been his companion for hours now and it was making concentrating a really hard task. He wanted to just go to bed, and stay there for some thousand years or so. He felt like the new player in a game where the rules were unknown to him and for every round that went by he understood less and less.

And now he had had enough.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Late update I know, but Christmas… disease… a horrible writer's block… pure laziness... school. Wish more could review… Last chapter was " **The drama queen…** ", John and Raven got kidnapped and stuff by Mycroft- real fun.

… **And his brother**

The black car had driven off to God knows where the moment they had closed the doors, nearly rolling over John's feet in the process. Standing on the pavement outside 221B Baker Street, Raven looked over at where John's gun was hidden from the untrained eye with a feeling of unease roaming inside her. Was this Sherlock Holmes really who he said he was? Was he really that clever? John, noticing her unease, tried to calm her with a reassuring smile as he knocked on the door. He probably thought it was because of the gun.

An elderly woman opened the door and smiled motherly, "John, come on in! Oh, you must be freezing, it really is cold outside today." She shooed them in before noticing Raven and smiled warmly. "You too, dear." When the door closed behind her, Raven nodded towards the landlady, "Thank you, I'm Raven… Maybe we'll see each other again." Smiling, the landlady turned and walked through a door, probably connected to her own apartment.

"That was Mrs. Hudson, by the way. Landlady, not house keeper." John's eyes lit up at his words before walking up the stairs. Figuring it probably was something Mrs. Hudson uttered often, Raven followed the blonde doctor up the seventeen stairs to 221B with a small smile.

o0o0o0o

221B Baker St. had been a loud flat ever since the consulting detective moved in. It was never truly quiet there, whatever your ears may say. The day the detective moved in was also the day the flat was first attacked by deafening thoughts so loud and chaotic. Even when he was not there, echoes of the genius's thoughts bounced of the walls, never letting the small flat of 221B Baker Street rest. The noise had nearly doubled the moment the strange detective arrived at the flat with a pink case and it had only increased since then. The man had settled on the small couch, head resting on a pillow, eyes closed. It almost looked as if he were asleep for a second. Of course the erratic genius could never rest during a case, his thoughts were simply too loud.

"Mrs Hudson! I need your phone!... Now, please!" No answer. Sighing incredibly loudly, the dark haired detective reached for his phone and texted none other than the blonde military doctor.

Baker Street.

Come at once if convenient - SH

Waiting several minutes (or at least it felt like it) he sent another message.

If inconvenient come anyway - SH

Throwing the phone towards the table he laid down on the couch. The sleeve of his left arm was rolled up to his elbow and two nicotine patches were plastered upon the pale skin. Two seconds crawled by and a third patch joined the other two. Relaxing, he retired to his mind palace until John came back after meeting Mycroft. He really should start minding his own business.

o0o0o0o

The stairs creaked as she stepped on them, announcing their arrival to the man Raven had wanted to meet. John opened the door, looking like he was stepping into unknown territory. He was. For some unknown reason it was hard to remember he had just met Sherlock. Cautious of her steps she threaded into a quite messy apartment, rivalling her own chaos in her bedroom (at least she managed to keep it in one room).

John stiffened after steeping into the room, the reason being none other than the fact that a man (who Raven presumed was Sherlock) was lying on the sofa… looking high. "What are you doing?" John's voice was stern as he limped into the apartment.

"Nicotine patches… Helps me think." Sherlock, not even bothering to turn his head, showed his arm to the two of them. Raven noticed how John relaxed the moment he saw them, but deciding they may want some privacy, her eyes quickly travelled other places, tuning out the conversation between the two men. Raven had always liked to stay in the background, invisible of sorts. She overheard bits of it; impossible…smoking habit…breathing's boring…three patch problem…other side of London…text…desk…number…text.

She walked over to the mantelpiece and stared curiously at the skull sitting next to the letters stabbed with a knife. Interesting decorations… "Sherlock!" Raven turned. "Did I just text a murderer?" Completely ignoring the question, Sherlock said, "Why is she here?" Before John could say something, she answered, "Why don't you deduce it?" Her voice was low, daring even. The dark haired man stepped closer to her (somewhere along the conversation he had arisen from the sofa), his eyes gleamed with intelligence as they swept over her. Raven stared back innocently until Sherlock was done. He stepped back and turned around, losing interest in her at once. It was expected, but still disappointing.

John's phone began to ring. Sherlock grinned, his expression clearly screaming 'a bit not good'.

"John, we better get going. We can't let the murderer wait, now can we?"

Raven pulled out her phone and lost her scarf on the floor. "Oh, I almost forgot…" Her fingers ran across the screen as she tried to find whatever she had nearly forgotten about. Both of the men were looking at her. She did not look up as she continued. "Me and John got kidnapped by your archenemy... I recorded it." She smiled slightly before pushing play. The detective invaded her personal space, grabbed the phone from her and turned volume higher.

" _Very clever what you did to get us here, with the cab and all that. But you could just phone me, on my phone…" Clothes rustled as they walked._

" _Have a seat, Dr. Watson, miss Wilson"_

" _I prefer to stand"_

Sherlock pushed the pause-button, gave her a look and fiddled with her phone for a moment longer. "What are you doing?" He ignored her question. Two seconds later he handed back the phone without a word. Quickly she looked through it, he had sent the audio tape to himself and that was it. She pocketed her phone as Sherlock left, with John stumbling after with a wave in her direction, "Sorry about that, Raven, show yourself out, will you? Got to run."

"Sure, no problem," she smiled and returned the wave. John's back disappeared and she was left alone. Noise filled the flat to the brink as Raven stood still, staring at the skull. Thoughts clashed together in furious crashes, but then she shook her head once and they stilled. The flat was remarkably quiet.

Raven exhaled and walked down the stairs, through the door and onto the street. During her walk home she looked behind her every now and then towards 221B. This couldn't be her last time seeing the detective, it just couldn't.

A/N: Just in case you didn't get it: Chapter A **"The drama queen…"** , Chapter B **"…And his brother"**

Please R&R

Beta Note: ...this could've been a bit earlier. Sorry, my bad.


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